


Softly, Softly

by ourownmaking



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), Other, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Wingfic, Wings, Wordcount: 100-500, references to The Fall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:33:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28446198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourownmaking/pseuds/ourownmaking
Summary: Crowley reminisces about their wings.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Softly, Softly

**Author's Note:**

> another short drafted in one night.
> 
> beta'd by sadgaypoet

Crowley laid on their side on the soft mattress of their bed, listening to the cheerful noises of the world waking around them. They had their wings out, blocking the morning sun from their face and torso, legs beneath the warm covers. They brought a hand up to stroke gently at the feathers before their face.

There was a memory there, as clear as if it had been yesterday, of when those feathers had been of the purest white, stretching behind them in flight, carrying them through Heaven, past it, into the vast expanse of space. Holding them aloft as they drifted between the stars they had created, beautiful galaxies and nebulae which seemed almost to reach out to them like a plant reaches for the Sun, for water. Their only true peace.

Another memory was swift to follow, one marred by pain but no less vibrant. The same wings that had taken them gracefully across the universe burning, twisting, staining black with the ash from the flames. Breaking as they landed in sulfur, sulfur they had crawled out of on hands and knees, coughing and spluttering and cursing a God who would not listen, who did not care, not anymore.

Crowley dropped their hand to the bed. None of that mattered now. What was important was what had happened after. What had happened In the Beginning.

The padding of socked feet on wood floors became audible in the hall outside the bedroom, and Crowley smiled. A second later the door opened behind them, revealing the faint tinkling of china.

“Good morning, dearheart,” Aziraphale began. “I brought-- oh.”

Slowly, Crowley rolled over to face him. “Morning, angel,” they said quietly. Without another word, Aziraphale set the tea tray on the nightstand (which knew better than to be too small), and slipped into bed beside them. He reached a tentative hand out towards the inky black wing curved above him. At Crowley’s affirmative nod, his fingers came to rest there, and began to stroke through the feathers with something quite like reverence.

“They’re beautiful, Crowley, darling. Absolutely lovely.” His voice was hushed in the serenity of the moment.

Crowley leaned forward, capturing Aziraphale’s lips in a chaste kiss, before settling back down against the pillow with a contented sigh. They brought their wing lower in a protective gesture, as angel sidled up to demon, holding them in his strong, sturdy grip.

It was reminiscent of that particularly important moment, many thousands of years past. An angel extending a wing over a demon who shuffled closer, looking up in awe at that bright white colour, so familiar yet so strange.

Crowley’s smile went impossibly softer, as they huddled their angel ever closer, and drifted, softly, back to sleep.


End file.
